


how all this, and love too, will ruin us

by orphan_account



Series: hymns [11]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: (I wasn't sure whether to rate this M or T so), (nothing explicit happens but it's discussed), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Backstory, Bill/Ford centric, Gay Male Character, I tried to make this canon compliant I really did, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:32:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows it's not a hallucination on instinct; this is real, this has to be real. There's something inside of him and he doesn't know how to feel. There's something inside of him that's terrifying but Stanford wants to bow to it, wants to hand himself over. This — thing, being, entity — inside of him wants to destroy, like in his dreams, but Stanford can't decide if he's against the feeling, against the destruction. He should be. He should be.</p><p> </p><p>But, see: he is tired of being alone.</p><p>(Or: the one where Stanford and Bill have a telepathic bond and Stanford knows Bill's going to betray him before it happens.</p><p>He falls for Bill and his flattery anyways.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	how all this, and love too, will ruin us

So: he's thirteen and he's just starting to grow a little bit taller, a little bit into his features. He has six fingers on each hand and he's starting to become okay with it - the children at this age have stopped teasing him, which means that his brother no longer needs to fight. Stanley is always defensive, always defending his brother against the  _bad_ people, the bullies, the ignorant, and Stanford loves, loves, loves him for it. Loves him for everything, but selfishly. 

 

Now there is nothing.

 

So: he's thirteen and he's in school and his parents and his brother tell him that he will marry a beautiful, beautiful girl, one day, and there are beautiful, beautiful girls in his class, but something is very, very wrong: he doesn't want to marry any of them. At first he thinks it's because he's so young - too young to make a decision that big, surely - but then a new kid transfers in and Stanford feels...  _radiant,_ almost. Radiant.

 

The new kid's name is William.

 

* * *

 

So: Bill is God-knows-how-old and his age doesn't matter. He supposes that some of his friends are nice, but he's not very interested in any sort of a -  _romantic_ \- attachment. Everything else is wonderful, but  _romance_ (what a  _horrible_ word) and exclusivity disgusts him.

 

So: his dimension has been decaying for - a while. God-knows-how-long. Its reality is coming apart further and further, unraveling, every - second. And Bill is  _trapped._

 

Being  _trapped_ is not something that Bill is used to. Being trapped is not something that Bill  _likes._

 

He decides that one day, maybe, he will find a way to escape from his decaying dimension.

 

He will find another dimension.

 

And that dimension will  _burn._

 

* * *

 

 

So: Stanford is still thirteen and he's dreaming about being stuck. In small rooms with the walls closing in on him ever so slowly, in big rooms with the doors disappearing one by one, in forests with no sunlight and no escape from the darkness.

 

He contemplates telling his brother about being stuck.  _Contemplates._ Not for long. He's dreaming about being stuck and his brother can't sleep. On the nights that Stanley can't sleep, Stanford stays up with him, tells him stories-not- _dreams_ about a boy who was stuck but found a way out. It should go without saying. Stanford should be this boy.  _They're only dreams._ If they're only dreams then why do they feel so, so  _real?_

 

The stories put his brother to sleep and after a while Stanford wonders what it's like to sleep and not feel -  _stuck._

 

* * *

 

So: he's fourteen-almost-fifteen and the walls and the rooms are becoming hungrier and hungrier.

 

And then they stop. They've nearly devoured him, but it doesn't matter because he wakes up in the morning intact with no teeth marks and no crushed bones and everything just  _stops._

 

The rooms disappear but the terror lasts, and he can't sleep without waking up three-or-four times every night to make sure that he's still real and intact and --- in this dimension. On Earth. It's a weird feeling: sometimes Stanford doesn't feel like he's in this dimension.

 

It's small enough to ignore, so Stanford ignores it.

 

So: his fifteenth birthday comes and goes quickly. He's almost a  _man_ now - three more years until he's an adult. He barely enjoys his birthday because he's dreaming about something different now, something worse than being stuck.

 

He's dreaming about being... angry. He wants to destroy, now. In the dreams, he wants to destroy. He can't, can't, can't. There is nothing left for him to destroy.

 

Stanford ignores it - _again_ - and his brother seems to enjoy their fifteenth birthday much, much more.

 

* * *

 

So: he gets drunk with Stanley and some of his friends at age sixteen. He's not much of a rule breaker, but Stanley breathes  _come on, Sixer, you gotta try this,_ as Stanford stops him from falling on his ass, and Stanford decides that he needs some sort of an escape from life.

 

His escape ends up being three drinks and a game of Truth or Dare.

 

"Okay, it's your turn," Stanley says. "Truth or dare."

 

Stanley nudges him and whispers  _pick dare,_ so Stanford picks dare, because he loves his brother and he doesn't feel like admitting who he has a crush on, or who he's had sex with (no one, but that's boring and anticlimactic), or any of the usual Truth or Dare questions.

 

"So you pick dare," Stanley says, voice slurred, "I dare you to kiss him."

 

He points across the room to some guy - one of Stanley's friends that Stanford never bothered to remember the name of - and the guy is looking at Stanford with intrigue.

 

Yeah,  _okay,_ he's pretty cute, but Stanford doesn't want to kiss him, because boys don't kiss other boys, or at least that's what his parents tell him, and Stanford is - scared. 

 

It's just that - okay, he doesn't want his first kiss to be with someone that he doesn't know. He's never kissed anyone, or had sex, or been in _any_ kind of a relationship with someone. His life would be boring if he wasn't so  _smart._ His intelligence makes up for that void, but sometimes it's not enough.

 

"Well, what are you waiting for?" The guy asks. "Don't chicken out of this."

 

Stanford is _anything_ but a chicken.

 

So: the kiss is - really nice, actually. Too quick. He almost  _likes_ it. 

 

Okay: he  _almost_ likes it a lot.

 

Okay, no: he likes it a lot, and there are no almosts.

 

His brother bursts out in laughter, says,  _you just kissed my boyfriend, Ford, how_ gross,and Stanford can't tell if it's a joke or not. Stanford can't tell if he  _wants_ it to be a joke or not.

 

"What - whatever happened to that girl... Sally? Cindy?" Stanford asks.

 

Stanley says something incomprehensible. Stanford can only make out the words _dating_ and  _both_ and nothing after that, and all he can think about is that damn kiss.

 

This is probably when Stanford decides that he's really, really gay.

 

Like,  _really_ gay.

 

It makes sense: he was seven years old and following one of his classmates around, he was thirteen and crushing on the new kid at school, he was fourteen and watching television and thinking about how nice all of the male characters looked...

 

So: Stanford Pines is gay.

 

Okay.

 

"My turn," Stanley says.

 

"Truth or —" 

 

There's something behind his brother, something tall and bright pink and monstrous. It's like he's dreaming again — maybe he  _is_ dreaming, maybe this is all a dream, maybe he'll wake up soon feeling angry-but-calm like something new. 

 

"You okay?" Stanley asks. "You're acting weird."

 

"I'm fine," he says. "It's just  — there's something behind you."

 

"There's nothing behind him," someone next to him says, and the monster passes through Stanley's body like a spirit.

 

The monster says:  _Bill, you ready?_

 

**Bill.**

 

**_B i l l._  
**

 

Stanford feels like he's heard this name before, feels like he's known this name for his entire life. Deep, deep in his mind:  _Bill._

 

It feels right, it makes sense.  _Bill makes sense._

 

Or maybe he's just really, really out of it.

 

Who knows. The only thing that Stanford knows is: the name Bill feels right somehow, feels like something falling into place.

 

It makes sense but it's not a particularly good feeling. There's something inside of him  — a sense of regret, almost, a mistake.

 

"I sure am," a voice responds, high, and Stanford knows instantly that this is  _Bill's_ voice, despite not knowing who Bill actually is.

 

"Let's go."

 

The monster disappears.

 

So: Stanford ends the night asleep on the floor with his brother, some guy that he wants to kiss again, two other people, and the name Bill like an intrusive thought.

 

So: Stanford doesn't dream; he's seen enough.

 

* * *

 

So: two months later and he's nearly forgotten about the Monster And Gay Realization Incident  — or what he can remember of it, at least, because it's all a little bit blurred. He remembers a little bit, remembers kissing and Feeling, and hallucinating a bright pink thing with teeth and horns, and  _oh, yeah_ : Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill.

 

Somewhere in those two months, he started drawing. Big monsters with teeth and horns, big monsters that are nothing but teeth walking, big monsters that are the shape of diamonds.

 

The monsters are constant, all of his drawings are monsters, monsters, monsters.

 

Except for one.

 

One of his drawings isn't a monster, can't be a monster. It's a triangle with one, singular eye. Built of — of — of yellow, and dreams. Dreams are also constant — he's dreaming even when he isn't, which doesn't really make sense, but it's the only way to describe this feeling. Like — radiance.

 

Stanford feels radiant, again.

 

So: no, it can't be a monster. It has the shape of a monster, but it's not a monster. Something is different about this triangular being, something is  _off_ — Stanford can't decide if it's something good, or something like dreaming.

 

Both, maybe, he decides.

 

So: two months later and Stanford is still dreaming. There are the dreams again — he is angry, he wants to destroy, there is nothing left to destroy, the concept of destroying is collapsing in on itself, destroying is destroying, decaying is decaying, he is decaying. It's all very, very involved.

 

So: two months later and Stanford is still dreaming.

 

So: two months later and Stanford is still dreaming.

 

So: two months later and Stanford is still dreaming.

 

So: two months later and Stanford is still dreaming.

 

So: two months later and he's gotten used to it.

 

So: that's not right, he never really gets used to it. He's a good person and good people don't think about destroying. But it's normal, now. 

 

~~So: two months later and Stanford is still dreaming.~~

 

So: two months later and he can hear someone else's thoughts. Someone else's —  _voice?_ _—_ inside of his head. 

 

Well, actually: he's half-asleep and he  _thinks_ he can hear someone else inside of his head.

 

It says:  _No._

 

It says:  _I want to, but I can't._

 

There's a long pause.

 

 

_You seem to be forgetting that we're trapped here  —_

 

 

Another long pause.

 

What an  _annoying_ voice.

 

 

_— at least Time Baby can't find us  —  yeah, I know I've said that a million times  — would you shut **up  —** there's really no upside to this  — it's been going on for a trillion years, guys, get  **used** to it  — whatever  — let's go find somewhere to get weird._

 

 

"Go away," Stanford sighs, "you're not real," and the voice stops.

 

_What._

 

"You're not real, and I want to sleep."

 

_Guys. Do you hear that._

 

 _What do you mean you don't_   _— we've gotta find a way out of here. I think I'm losing it._

 

Okay, so: the voice is talking back to him.

 

This isn't weird at all.

 

* * *

 

So: a very, very long time ago, this happened:

 

Anger.

 

So: a very, very long time ago, before his dimension started to decay, before he was stuck, when he could hop from dimension to dimension as he pleased, this happened:

 

"Hey, you, triangle, do you have a place to hide us?"

 

"Could you try to be at least a little bit nicer? They won't want to help us if they see us being so...  **blunt.** "

 

"Kryptos, we're interdimensional criminals. We're not nice."

 

"Right."

 

So: a very, very long time ago, this happened:

 

Bill looked at them  _—_ a tall woman with  _fire_ and  _fire_ and  _pink._ A smaller, floating demon, blue-gray.

 

They didn't look much like interdimensional criminals. 

 

Bill hated rules, Bill hated structure, Bill hated  _—_ everything, practically.

 

Bill said: "Criminals, huh? I like it. Who're you on the run from?"

 

"Time Baby," Kryptos told him, with disgust in his voice. Bill had heard of Time Baby  _— what an asshole._

 

"Do you have a place to hide us, or not," the woman said. 

 

"I think I can find a place," Bill told her. "I  _like_ criminals, you know."

 

"Great! There's eight of us."

 

A very, very long time ago, this happened:

 

Bill became fast friends with all of them.

 

They destroyed together.

 

A very, very long time ago, this happened:

 

His dimension started to decay, piece by piece.

 

A very, very long time ago, this happened:

 

They were stuck.

 

 

* * *

 

 So: Bill's arguing with his friends when he hears the voice inside of his mind:  _You're not real, and I want to sleep._

 

_You're not real, and I want to sleep._

 

_You're not real, and I want to sleep._

 

_You're not real, and I want to sleep._

 

_You're not real, and I want to sleep._

 

_You're not real, and I want to sleep._

 

_You're not real, and I want to sleep._

 

_You're not real, and I want to sleep._

 

_You're not real, and I want to sleep._

 

It's not like anything he's heard before, this voice. It's like  _— light,_ like humanity.

 

Bill  _hates_ humanity.

 

The first time he'd been summoned to their dimension, they had worshiped him, which was  _—_ admittedly, pretty nice. He had basked in it, the love that the feeble-minded gave him. He promised them answers to all of their questions, and in turn they treated him like a God, like something holy, which is a treatment that he rightfully deserved.

 

But after a while, it just got so  _boring._

 

He had moved from one mind to the next, became intimate with how each of their undeveloped _disgusting_  brains worked. Worship was not enough; he needed something better, something like peculiarity. Something  _weird._

 

_**Folie à deux.** _

 

 ****He wanted to be feared more than loved. Yeah _—_ love is  _amazing_ when it's never-ending, when it's directed at you, when you don't have to give anything back, but also  _— love is boring._

 

Bill didn't  _care._

 

The humans painted warnings about him on their cave walls, said that he is a being of Questions and Answers and Destruction.

 

(Bill loved it.)

 

So: Bill's hearing voices. This is not an unusual occurrence, but this voice is different, sounds like humanity, sounds like something easily manipulated. Humanity is easily manipulated. This voice can be easily manipulated, like clay. This voice is telling Bill that he isn't real, which isn't far from the truth  _—_ he isn't real, has no true physical form outside of his dimension.

 

So: he's going to pin this voice down, he's going to find this voice.

 

So: he's going to get a physical form, someday.

 

Someday.

 

* * *

 

 

So: the next morning, Stanley asks him who he was talking to in the middle of the night.

 

Stanford says  _no one, I was probably talking in my sleep,_ because you don't just tell someone that you heard a voice inside your head while trying to get to sleep. An angry voice. A weird voice. That's just   _—_ not something you do.

 

Stanley gives him a suspicious look.

 

"Okay, why don't I believe you?"

 

"Do you think I'm lying?"

 

Stanley sighs. "Maybe, I don't know."

 

"Stan," Stanford says, "I would  _never_ lie to you. We're brothers."

 

Which is... a lie, but a small one. He lied to his brother, but only to protect himself. Stanley wouldn't laugh at him, wouldn't make fun of him for hearing the voice, so why did he  _—_

 

lie  _—_

 

to his  _—_

 

brother.

 

Brotherbrotherbrotherbrotherbrotherbrotherbrother. Brother brother brother brother brother brother brother

brother brother brother brother brother brother brother brother brother brother brother.

 

B r o t h e r, he thinks, and thinks back to the times where Stanley would... have words... with anyone who made fun of Stanford's extra finger. The kids stopped making fun of him for it but Stanford misses seeing his brother like that, misses seeing someone stand up for him.

 

"Okay," Stanley says, "sorry. I just __—__  wanted to make sure you're okay. You worry me sometimes, Ford, you know that?"

 

"Sorry for worrying you."

 

"Oh, come here," he says, and hugs Stanford tight, tight, tight.

 

(Stanford never wants him to let go.)

 

* * *

 

 

So:

 

He's seventeen when he dreams about the world ending.

 

So:

 

He's seventeen when he dreams about fire, things living that shouldn't be alive, thrones made of people,  _monsters._ So, so many monsters. Monsters like the ones he started drawing, doodling on his school-work, carving into his skin with pens when he's bored.

 

And  _betrayal._ Bitterness. Obsession. Especially this.

 

Something has betrayed him, in these dreams. 

 

It's not real not real not real not real not real but it  _feels_ real, it feels like being thrown into a fire, it feels like corruption.

 

The world is ending in his dreams, and he has been betrayed, he has  _loved,_ and  _loved_ and  _loved_ and  _loved_ and  _loved_ and  _loved._ He has loved in these dreams, but he doesn't love anymore when the world is ending. He only thinks about: betrayal. 

 

Penance.

 

So:

 

Rewind:

 

 

_How can you say that after what happened?_

 

_Isn't it suffocating?_

 

He also dreams about his brother, and it isn't a good dream, and Stanford can't understand why he's so  _angry,_ can't understand how he could  _ever_ be angry at his brother like this.

 

They're  _brothers._

 

They're  _forever._

 

(Right?)

 

So:

 

Fast forward:

 

He's seventeen and the world is  _—_ ending, probably, but with a twist:

 

_he knows its weakness._

 

_He can stop it._

 

_He can stop it, if he tries hard enough, if he can get over loving and — betrayal._

 

_He can stop it, if he has a chance._

 

So:

 

Pause.

 

None of this is going to happen. 

 

They're only  _dreams._

 

* * *

 

 

So: he's eighteen and he's  _smart._

 

He's getting accepted into a good college. Well  _—_ he hasn't been accepted  _yet,_ but the admissions team for West Coast Tech is coming to his science fair to evaluate him and his experiment, so it's practically a done deal. There's no  _way_ Stanford can fuck this up. He's extremely intelligent, he's rather good looking, he has  _everything_ going for him. He's going to have a perfect life, go to a perfect college, meet some perfect friends  _—_

 

there's one problem, though: his brother will  _freak_ when he finds out that Stanford is going to be away from him.

 

He will miss Stanley like it hurts, but he can't pass up a chance like this.

 

So: he's eighteen when it happens again, the voices.

 

This time, there's a conversation.

 

He's pacing around his room, anxious about the science fair, when he hears a soft  _not again._

 

"Hello?"

 

_Not again._

 

"Is everything alright?"

 

 _I need to find a way out of this fucking dimension_ — _wait, why am I talking to myself? What the fuck?_

 

"I don't know," Stanford says, "sorry."

 

 _Dimension_.It's funny: sometimes Stanford doesn't feel like he's in this dimension. He's felt like that for  _—_ a while, since he was fourteen-almost-fifteen. Where else  _would_ he be, though, is the question: there are no other dimensions, that's just  _ridiculous._  

 

Sometimes he can almost feel the cold of a different dimension, sometimes he can almost hear the cries of the inhabitants of a different dimension, but: that's just  _ridiculous._

 

He ignores it. He's pretty good at ignoring, he's done it his entire life. Ignore the fact that he has six fingers on each hand, ignore the fact that he likes other boys, ignore the fact that sometimes living is suffocating.

 

It's just so  _easy._

 

_Why are you sorry. Why is there a voice in my mind that's saying sorry. Being apologetic isn't in my vocabulary. What's going on?_

 

Well — why is there a voice in Stanford's head that  _isn't_ saying sorry? Why is there a voice in Stanford's head that's acting so — so — so — so  _angry —_

 

 _**No,** _ _  
_

 

it can't be.

 

This anger. This need for destruction that he can feel pouring through him.

 

The  _dreams._

 

It makes sense, now.

 

"I don't know," he says again. He knows it's not a hallucination on instinct; this is real, this  _has_ to be real. There's something inside of him and he doesn't know how to feel. There's something inside of him that's terrifying but Stanford wants to  _bow_ to it, wants to hand himself over. This — thing, being, entity — inside of him wants to destroy, like in his dreams, but Stanford can't decide if he's against the feeling, against the destruction. He should be. He should be.

 

But, see: he is tired of being alone.

 

But, see: he likes the feeling of being occupied, of having something inside of him, locked down and away like a secret.

 

So: "Who are you," he says. He entertains the idea that none of this is real, that he's just  _scared_ about the science fair, but —  _no,_ that's not right. It's real, how many times is he going to think about it? It's  _real._ It's real and there's something inside of him and all he can do is ask  _who are you_. It might be an under-reaction. Just a small one.

 

_You don't know?_

 

"No, I don't. That's why I asked. I want to know your name."

 

_Aren't we the same._

 

"No," Stanford says, "I don't think we are. We're — different, somehow. I can feel it. Or maybe I'm just losing my mind, who knows, but I don't think that I am."

 

_You can feel it, huh? Okay, then I'm not telling you. I want you to figure it out._

 

"But —"

 

_Bye-bye._

 

"What?"

 

Stanford tries and tries and tries and tries to get the voice to come back, but it's  _gone._

 

* * *

 

 

"Joke is on them if they think you wanna go to some stuffy college on the other side of the country. Once we get the Stan O' War complete, it's gonna be beaches, babes, and international treasure hunting for us."

 

So: Stanley doesn't  _get_ it, does he. Stanford loves his brother, but this school has so many good programs and  _honestly,_ his brother needs him a little bit too much. It might be good for Stanley to go without him for a while, to toughen him up.

 

"I can't pass up a chance like this. This school has cutting edge programs and  —"

 

Stanley starts making robotic noises with his mouth. "'Beep-boop," he mocks, "I am a nerd robot.' That's you. That's what you sound like."

 

He pictures it: traveling the world with his brother in the Stan o' War. In this fantasy, they go treasure hunting and they become rich and he meets someone beautiful and they make a life together  _but_ in this fantasy, he is still intelligent but he never went to college, doesn't have anything to show for it  — in this fantasy, he is an academic Failure.

 

He's too smart for this.

 

He'll find someone eventually, probably, but for now: he needs to focus on getting into West Coast Tech.

 

"Well," he says, "if the college board isn't impressed with my experiment tomorrow, then okay  — I'll do the treasure hunting thing with you."

 

"And  —" Stanley's voice sounds like it's going to break. Just for a moment. "And if they are?"

 

"Then I guess you'd better come visit me on the other side of the country."

 

* * *

 

So: there are two boys, on a swing-set. There are two boys, forever and ever. Maybe these boys are brothers. Bill can't tell, Bill doesn't know what a brother looks like.

 

(Yet.)

 

So: there are two brothers.

 

So: Bill is watching them. He doesn't know how — he is an all-knowing being, he  _should_ know — but they're in front of him like a projection, like a spirit.

 

So: one of the brothers seems familiar. Bill has seen him before. Somewhere. He doesn't know where. He doesn't like not knowing. All he knows is: this brother, this  _boy,_ is like light, is like humanity.

 

It doesn't take him long to realize who this boy is.

 

This boy is the one who lives inside of him. They are not the same — he's human and this is  _real._

 

So: there are two boys, on a swing-set. 

 

So: Bill doesn't know how to feel. 

 

* * *

 

 

So: the perpetual motion machine  _stops._

 

So: he doesn't get into West Coast Tech. They crossed his name off a list and everything.  _I don't think you're West Coast Tech material, kid,_ they said, and laughed and moved onto the next name like it was  _nothing._

 

So: there's a package of toffee peanuts on the floor next to his "failed project", next to his ruined dreams and ruined future and ruined ruined ruined —

 

So: _Stanley_ did this. He couldn't handle the fact that he would be away from Stanford, away from the only thing that he knows.

 

Stanford thinks back to his dreams, thinks back to a time when he'd think about fighting with his brother and go: _no._ No, that just couldn't happen. Stanley and Stanford Pines are best friends until the world ends.

  
But — this is something that you just can't come back from. Stanley cost him his _dream school._ Stanley cost him his _future._ Stanley cost him his _everything._

 

So: their father kicks Stanley out on the streets, and Stanford thinks he'll come back sooner or later, he'll come  _back,_ so that Stanford can be angry with him again. Hold a grudge. He'll come back at some point, because his brother is dependent and  _needs_ him, loves him  _too much._

 

So: months pass.

 

Stanley doesn't come home.

 

* * *

 

 

So: his dimension stops decaying for  — a while. God-knows-how-long. Nothing has faded. Everything is surprisingly intact. He almost has  —  _hope._ His friends have to remind him that nothing lasts.

 

And — something's  _crying._ It's not one of his friends, because they aren't  _weak._ It's — the voice, again, has to be.  Crying is weak and this voice is humanity and light, and humanity and light are  _weak._ Weak weak weak weak weak weak weak.

 

 _Are you there,_ it says.  _I need someone to talk to._

 

"Well, well, well. This is interesting. You're back."

 

_I never left._

 

"Whatever! Tell me what's ailing you."

 

_My **idiot** brother ruined my future, and now I have to go to  **Backupsmore** University. I had everything planned. Everything! And now it's all  **gone.**_

 

"That's your fault," Bill tells it. "Family is stupid. You don't need family. You sound like you're pretty smart, I guess, but you're  _weak._ You should know this already — family just holds you back."

 

_But — he's my brother. Or — he **was** my brother. He's gone now. _

 

"So you killed him, huh? Wow, I guess I'll have to rethink that  _weak_ thing."

 

_What? No, I didn't kill him. My family disowned him._

 

 

"Your family sounds like a bunch of awful, messed up people. Think of it this way: going to this Backupsmore University might be good for you. You can finally get away from them."

 

_I... never thought about it that way. You're right._

 

"Like always! I am  _always_ right."

 

_I have to go now. But thank you._

 

"Any time, weird voice in my head that's an entirely different person."

 

There's laughter, and then nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

So: The first guy he sleeps with is his roommate, Fiddleford McGucket.

 

It happens a little bit like this:

 

They're studying together, pulling an all-nighter, and God, Fiddleford is just _—_ so beautiful. Stanford hasn't really noticed it until now _—_  his lips, his hair, the way he talks…

 

“So,” he says, “let's go over it again, even though I reckon you've already absorbed all this information like a robot.” He laughs. “What's the answer?”

 

(Fiddleford calls him a robot and Stanford thinks back to that one day with his brother and the Stan o’ War and treasure hunting and _—_ )

 

“Hello? Stanford? You listenin’?”

 

“Does it matter?”

 

“Well, ‘course it matters. It's due tomorrow.”

 

“We’ve got some time,” Stanford says, and _oh,_ “let’s have some fun, let's do something _else,_ ” slips out before Stanford can capture it, push it back down.

 

He’s never done this before, the flirting thing. He’s always been _that awkward gay kid._ He's never taken a chance like this. He's never been with anyone, never been in a relationship and he's _certainly_ never had sex.

 

But: there's a first time for everything.

 

“Something else?” He asks. “What could possibly be more important than _—_ ”

 

 _Shut up,_ Stanford thinks, and he’s kissing him before he can pull himself back, capture it and push it back down. He’s kissing Fiddleford, his best friend, like hunger.

 

So: Fiddleford isn't kissing him back.

 

“I'm so sorry,” he says, “I don't know what I was thinking, Fiddleford. Forgive me.”

 

“I didn't know you felt that way about me.”

 

“I'm terribly sorry _—_ ”

 

“Don't be.”

 

So: Fiddleford kisses him.

 

Fiddleford kisses him.

 

Fiddleford kisses him.

 

Fiddleford kisses him.

 

Fiddleford kisses him, and Stanford has never felt like this before, like light, like a different kind of radiance.

 

* * *

 

 

So: in the morning, Fiddleford is with him, but Stanford doesn't feel like they're alone.

 

He feels like he's being watched, but  _—_  he's always been paranoid, so it's not a necessarily new feeling. It's just. Intensified. Like something watched his weakness (  _— weakness,_ like the being inside of his mind, like  _—_ ) and  _laughed._ Like something is staring at him, sizing him, waiting for the perfect moment to act and destroy, there's the destroying again, the anger. 

 

Honestly  _—_ Stanford doesn't know how to describe the feeling. He just  _knows_ something is wrong, that something had been watching him in his most vulnerable moments.

 

"You okay?" Fiddeford asks.

 

"Fine," Stanford replies, because telling the person that is your maybe-boyfriend you think something watched you have sex would be probably considered  _weird._

 

"Listen," Fiddleford says, "what happened last night was  _—_ "

 

"Great?"  

 

"  _—_ not somethin' that can happen again."

 

 _Shit,_ Stanford thinks, and then his mind is a blur of  _shit shit shit — made a mistake — huge mistake — shit — he doesn't like me —  he's not into guys — fuck — **fuck —**_ (he doesn't swear much, if ever, but  _— **fuck**_ )  _—_ _huge huge huge mistake —_

 

"It's not that I don't like you," Fiddleford tells him, "it's just  _—_ I'm not  _— ready._ For somethin' like that, a commitment, y'know?"

 

"Oh," Stanford says, because that's all he  _can_ say, because so much for Fiddleford being his maybe-boyfriend, because he's going to die alone with no one to love ( _— and no brother_ ) and  _—_

 

"It doesn't have to be a commitment, does it?"

 

Fiddleford laughs. 

 

"No, I guess not. Oh  _—_ "

 

"What?"

 

"You remember why we were pullin' an all-nighter?"

 

"Oh," Stanford says, " _oh,_ _no._ "

 

"We should get back to work."

 

* * *

 

 So: the voice comes back a few hours after they finish their work.

 

It says:  _you've been having fun, I see,_ and Stanford feels  _embarrassment, horror, humiliation_ wash over him, knows  _instantly_ that the voice is talking about his  _— experience —_ with Fiddleford.

 

"How did you know about that?"

 

_I **felt** it, kiddo. Felt everything. Gotta say, it was pretty nice._

 

"Oh  _— oh_   _—_ okay  _— um..._ "

 

It laughs.  _You're so easily flustered._

 

"No, I'm not," Stanford tells it, stern. He sits down against the wall, buries his head in his hands. "You still haven't told me who you are. Maybe I'm just losing my mind."

 

_You're not losing your mind. I'm — a friend. We have a connection. You know that, I know that. But enough about that whole thing. Tell me about you._

 

"I'm  _—_ "

 

He stops. Is he  _seriously_ about to introduce himself to something inside of his mind? It's all extremely confusing, see: there's something that lives inside of his mind, or maybe not inside of his mind, maybe it lives somewhere else. It's all extremely confusing, if you think about it, see: there's a voice inside of him that's real, but it's always hard to believe. Stanford has a secret, something to keep close, something that others would laugh at or be concerned about if they knew. 

 

Still: he's seriously about to introduce himself to something inside of his mind, something that should  _know_ him.

 

Why doesn't it know him?

 

" _—_ Stanford Pines," he finishes.

 

 

_Stanford Pines. Interesting. Tell me more._

 

Stanford thinks about a story. It's not a very good story, but it's  _his._

 

Stanford thinks about a story. Once upon a time, there was a little boy. Thirteen, not-so-little-anymore. This little boy was different — he had an extra finger on each hand. The kids stopped teasing him about it. This boy had a brother, this boy loved his brother, this boy didn't know betrayal. Not yet. This boy liked other boys. This boy had a future ahead of him. This boy had a  _destiny._

 

Once upon a time, after that: this boy knew betrayal. 

 

Once upon a time, now: this story is boring. Stanford wants a different one. 

 

 _It's not boring,_ the voice says. Stanford forgot that this being is inside of him, knows his thoughts.  _It's really cool, actually. Never had a life like that._

 

_I'll have one, though. Soon._

 

"Why can't you have one now?"

 

Something rings through Stanford's mind, something different —  _said too much._

 

**_Not yet._ **

 

 _It doesn't really matter,_ the voice replies.  _I don't care. But hey! You should go distract me again. Get high, or drunk, or something. I want to feel again! Feeling is nice. Do it._

 

"But—"

 

_For me, Stanford? F o r d s y?_

 

Fordsy, Stanford thinks. It's a nice nickname, a good one. The only other nicknames he has are bitter.  _Freak._

 

_Sixer._

 

"Okay."

 

* * *

 

 

So: Stanford doesn't notice that the dreams have stopped until he has to comfort Fiddleford after a particularly bad nightmare.

 

“It was horrible,” he says, and Stanford places a hand on his back, “it was the end of the world, and you—”

 

“It's okay, now,” Stanford reassures, “you know, I used to get these really bad dreams — ”

 

He thinks about it. The dreams have stopped, they're gone now, but Stanford remembers them like he lived them, like they were real, like they are the only thing that he knows.

 

“And?”

 

“And - oh, sorry - and no one helped me when I got them. So here, I'll hold you until you can get back to sleep. You don't want to end up like me, do you?”

  
“There are worse things,” Fiddleford says. “ _Thank you._ ”

 

 

Fiddleford falls asleep, but Stanford doesn't.

 

All that Stanford can think about is the end of the world, and the name —  _Bill._

 

He doesn't know why. He hasn't thought about that name in — a while. Too long.

 

Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill,  _Bill._

 

Bill and Stanford and the end of the world.

 

It feels  _right._

 

* * *

 

 

So: college comes and goes and nothing in his life is ever permanent. Fiddleford leaves. Stanford's intelligence gets him an enormous grant for him to do his own research.

 

Something's missing, though. Something big. Something like — a brother.

 

It's ridiculous. Stanford ignores it, because Stanley ruined his life and future and Stanford  _should_ hate him, should  _despise_ him, but something has been torn out of him. Something has been ripped out of the underneath of Stanford's skin. This something lived inside of him. He loved this something, adored it. Now this something is gone and Stanford can't figure out why it hurts so much. This something is shaped like something Stanford has known his entire life, loved and lost.

 

This something is shaped like family, he realizes.

 

He doesn't need family.

 

So: he's always been attracted to anomalies. He's an anomaly himself, a defect, something  _wrong,_ something to be made fun of. He's always been attracted to anomalies because anomalies are exactly like him. In a way.

 

So: there's a small town in Oregon called Gravity Falls that has a suspicious amount of anomalies. 

 

So: Stanford moves to Gravity Falls, builds a big house. He finds out  _everything._ There are bats with eyeballs, and living gnomes, and beings that can shapeshift. 

 

Something's missing, though. (Something like a br—)

 

Where does it all come from? What causes these anomalies?

 

So: Stanford can't figure it out. He tries, but: maybe he's not  _intelligent_ enough to figure it out.

 

_Nonsense, you're super intelligent!_

 

There's the voice again. Just when he needed it. 

 

"I don't know," he says. "I can't figure it out. I want to know what causes the anomalies of Gravity Falls, but..."

 

_You'll figure it out. Soon. I promise._

 

"You really think so?"

 

_I know so._

 

"How?"

 

_Let me help you out a little bit. There's a cave wall with an incantation on it somewhere in this hick town. Find it and recite it. Your intelligent — and admittedly extremely attractive — mind will be f i l l e d with knowledge instantly. Do you trust me?_

 

"I —"

 

_D o y o u t r u s t m e ?_

 

"Yes. You've never let me down."

 

_Good._

* * *

 

 

 So: the writing warns him about a being of Questions and Answers and Destruction.

 

Stanford wonders for a moment about  _why_ the voice would send him here,  _why_ it would do this,  _why_ would it send Stanford to a being of Destruction. But, see: Stanford is desperate, hungry. He needs to know what the cause is, it's eating away at him, and soon there will be nothing left except a voice and a body.

 

Also, the voice called his mind  _extremely attractive._ Which. Stanford doesn't realize until he's in the cave.  _Extremely attractive._

 

_Well, you are._

 

"You've never even seen me," Stanford says.

 

_Yes, I have. You've got it all! Brains, good looks. I mean, **God,** what I would do if I..._

 

_Well._

 

_Never-mind._

 

The voice inside of his head is  _flirting_ with him? This is new. This isn't weird at all.

 

Stanford likes it.

 

So: he says the incantation.

 

Nothing happens.

 

* * *

 

 So: he's  _pissed._ It promised him answers, it promised him  _knowledge,_ it promised him —

 

Whatever. The voice has never let him down.  _Maybe he should have a little more faith._

 

So: he probably shouldn't be studying underneath a tree, but he's so, so  _tired._ He could close his eyes just a  _little_ bit, and —

 

**"H E Y T H E R E , S M A R T G U Y!"**

 

O h. It's the being from the drawings he made, all those years ago. The yellow, triangular being made of — of — of yellow, and dreams. Bricks. The only one that isn't a monster, the Holy one.

 

He tells himself that he's dreaming. None of this is real. Instinctively, however, he knows something's wrong. He looks at this being-that-isn't-a-monster, and feels - scared? Scared. He's  _scared._ Feels like regret. This being is a being of regret. 

  

It seems to know about his fear.

 

"Woah, don't have a heart attack, you're not 92 yet!"

 

"Who are you," Stanford asks, words full of alarm and —  intrigue, almost. Intrigue. 

 

"Name's Bill!"

 

Bill.

 

**B i l l .**

 

He's known  _Bill_ since he was sixteen. He's known  _Bill_ for his entire life. The name like an intrusive thought, the name carved into the dark of his mind, the name like betrayal.

 

Bill looks harmless, though, so Stanford doesn't understand it. He's like holiness, not betrayal.

 

(Never betrayal.)

 

(Stanford only knows betrayal.)

 

(It's not going to happen again.)

 

"And you're Stanford Pines," Bill says. "The man who changed the world!"

 

Stanford hasn't changed the world, but  **o h** , Bill is making him feel like he could, like he could change the world so  _easily,_ and show everyone that Stanford Pines is  _more_ than a freak with six fingers.

 

It's ridiculous.

 

"But I'm getting ahead of ourselves. Let's relax! Care for a game of interdimensional chess?"

 

A chessboard appears in front of them. Stanford's never seen anything like this, the power, the  _energy._

 

"Have a cup of tea."

 

A full teacup appears in Stanford's hand.

 

Interesting.

 

Stanford reaches for the board, makes his move.

 

"Okay, I know what you're probably thinking," Bill says. "You're thinking, 'Golly, I'm dreaming about a handsome triangle with infinite power! How weird!'"

 

"Well, actually —"

 

"Well, it's not a dream. This is real. You see, Stanford, I'm a muse."

 

"A muse?"

 

"Yep, that's me! Every century, I choose one _brilliant_ mind to inspire. And hey! This time around, you're the lucky winner!"

 

Stanford can feel his face heating up. "Why did you pick me? Surely, there had to have been others up for consideration. Why me? What's so special about me?"

 

"What isn't? You're super smart, and you're not exactly ugly, either."

 

"I..." 

 

Stanford looks away.

 

"Thank you."

 

"No, I should be thanking you! With your mind, and my power, there's nothing we can't accomplish! Boy, you know, we're going to have so much fun together. I can't wait!"

 

"I don't believe it," Stanford says. "Is this really happening?"

 

Bill puts an arm around him.

 

Which is pretty weird, because Bill is still sitting across from him on the other side of the chessboard.

 

"It sure is! It's

 

**R E A L ,**

 

I know you can feel it.  I know you know this is real. Don't doubt this, Stanford Pines. We're destined for each other."

 

 _Destined,_ Stanford thinks. Maybe this explains the name, the intrusive thought. Maybe this explains it. 

 

He feels like everything has fallen into place. Pieces that were once so shattered put back together carefully. He's  _destined_ for Bill. 

 

You can't fight destiny.

 

"I can't wait either," he says. 

 

"Perfect! There's just one thing, though."

 

"What's that?"

 

"To make this possible," Bill says, "I need to be able to access your mind at all times."

 

"Why?"

 

"So I can fill you with incredible knowledge, of course! It's not that big of a deal, I guess. It's just that... if you don't let me in, I can't help you, and you want to be inspired, right?"

 

"Yes, of course."

 

With a wave of Bill's hand, the chessboard and the teacups disappear.

 

"So just shake my hand. Do we have a deal?"

 

Bill holds out his hand, lit up in blue fire, and Stanford knows that Bill would never hurt him, that Bill is Holy.

 

He can  _trust_ Bill.

 

(Still, there's something deep inside of him that screams b e t r a y a l and t r u s t n o o n e, but Stanford ignores it.

 

He's very good at ignoring.)

 

He takes Bill's hand and  _shakes._

 

"Just let me into your mind, Stanford."

 

"It's a deal. From now until the end of time. And please, call me... a  _friend._ "

 

* * *

 

So: he dreams about betrayal, that night, dreams about loving and losing and remembering and leaving. He dreams about Bill holding him, but not in a Pure way, not in the way Stanford would want to be held.

 

So: in this dream, they are building something together, and Bill says that it will change the world, Bill says that it will complete his research, Bill says he will finally know what causes the anomalies in Gravity Falls.

 

Stanford trusts him, in this dream, trusts and trusts and trusts and trusts.

 

So: Bill betrays him.

 

So: the dreams are real but Bill calls him a genius, calls him _smart guy,_ calls him _beautiful,_ and Stanford is - well. He's _smitten._

 

So: Bill has an ulterior motive, but, see: Stanford has been called a freak for his entire life.

 

  
Bill's praise overcomes him. 

 

* * *

 

 

So:  _Did you do what I told you?_

 

It's been a week, since he's heard the voice, since he met Bill Cipher, and Stanford is grateful, wants to bow again. He wants to thank the voice, over and over, even though he knows that it's not going to last forever, that Bill is like rotting, that —

 

"Yes," Stanford says,  _yes, yes, yes._ "I did. I did, and I met someone very interesting. How did you know?"

 

_Let's just say — I know lots of things._

 

"Thank you," Stanford says, without thinking.

 

 _No need to thank me,_ it says back.

 

_No need to thank me._

 

 

* * *

 

 

 So: Bill has never met anyone as  _stupid_ and  _foolish_ as Stanford Pines.

 

So: it's endearing, in a way.

 

* * *

 

 

So: he doesn't notice that he's fallen asleep until he hears  _Welcome back, I.Q! Care for a chat before we start our work?_

 

"Of course," Stanford says. "What do you want to talk about?"

 

"You!"

 

"Me?"

 

"Yup! I want to know everything that happened since we last saw each other."

 

Stanford doesn't understand. No one has shown a genuine  _interest_ in his life since  _—_

 

since his brother left.

 

(Has it really been that long since someone  _cared_ about him?)

 

(Sure, there was Fiddleford, he supposes. But Fiddleford left. Everyone leaves.)

 

(His brother left.)

 

(Everyone leaves.)

 

(His  _—_ )

 

"Honestly," Stanford says, "not much. I live a pretty boring life. Or  _—_ as boring as a life can be in Gravity Falls."

 

Bill chuckles.

 

"Well. Good thing you have me to spice things up a bit, huh?"

 

"Yes," Stanford says, with a smile. "It's a good thing I have you."

* * *

 

 So: Bill is helping him out with a particularly hard problem when he flirts with Stanford for the first time and  _means it._

 

No   _—_ he doesn't _mean_ it, but this is an act and the audience has to  _believe it,_ Stanford has to  _believe it,_ Stanford has to think that he's worth loving and that Bill is a being of good intentions and  _love._

 

He's really not worth loving. He's  _stupid_ and  _foolish_ and falls for anyone who will look at him and pretend to see something other than a defect. This is weakness. This is the very definition of weakness. Stanford Pines is  _weak._

 

But Bill needs him.

 

It's like a hunger.

 

This is his  _chance_ to escape.

 

Stanford can  _help_ him.

 

He has time.

 

"You know, you sure are smart," Bill says. "We're almost there! But why don't we take a break? Don't want to overload that lovely little brain of yours."

 

"Are you sure?" Stanford asks. "I'm  _so close_ to figuring it out."

 

"I'm positive! Hey, I have an idea. Why don't we take our relationship to the next level?"

 

"What do you mean," Stanford asks, but it's barely a question. He's shaking, like something has crawled inside of him, like something slithering and tempting, like a snake in the Garden. Bill is the snake, this time around. Adam and Eve were w e a k and stupid, too, just like Stanford. But that's only a story. This is  _real._

 

"What do you mean," Stanford repeats. He's still shaking. 

 

If Bill wasn't Above him, he could almost think that Stanford  _knows._

 

"I  _mean,_ I want your body."

 

"Wh  _— what?_ "

 

Oh, Stanford  _wants_ it. Bill can  _feel_ how much Stanford wants it.

 

_They have a connection._

 

"Let me take over your body for a little while," Bill says, low. "I'll pilot, and you can sit back and relax. Oh, yeah, and there's an added bonus:  _you'll be able to feel everything._ If you  _want_ to, that is. If you don't, I'll make sure you don't feel a thing."

 

Stanford swallows. Says nothing.

 

Bill can tell he's thinking about it, though  _—_ Bill can tell that he's  _disgusting._ Disgusting, disgusting mortals with their lust.

 

Bill is Above mortality, but he  _wants_ _it,_ too. He's never had an experience like that, he's never been able to  _control._

 

"So, what's it gonna be?"

 

"Okay," Stanford says. "You can have my body. You can have  _everything._ "

 

" _There_ it is. And do you want to f _—_ "

 

" _Yes._ "

 

* * *

 

 

So: it feels like something different, feels like something Stanford has never felt before.

 

They have a  _connection._

 

_Destiny._

 

Stanford can feel everything. Bill can feel everything. It's folding in, reflecting, amplifying  _—  this is their connection._

 

_This is their connection._

 

* * *

 

 

 

So: Stanford feels sick, a few months later, when Bill tells him that he will _finally_ be able to complete his research and find out all of the secrets of Gravity Falls.

 

Because finishing his research means Bill _leaving,_ and he doesn’t want Bill to leave, doesn’t want to be alone again. Without Bill, his life has no purpose. Without Bill, he is _nothing._

 

Nothing nothing nothing nothing.

 

Without Bill, Stanford is as useless as his brother.

 

“How,” he asks, but his voice is dry and flat and _—_ and _—_ and _— weak._

 

“Oh, Stanford,” Bill hums, “it should be _obvious._ The only way to find out what causes the weirdness in his town, is to build a portal to the center of it. There’s a dimension that’s leaking weirdness into this world, and _—_ ”

 

“Another dimension?”

 

“Well, yeah! If you can build a portal to this dimension, you’ll finally figure everything out!”

 

Stanford thinks about his dream, about betrayal. This is happening, now. Bill is lying to him. Bill would never lie to him. Bill is lying to him. Bill would never lie to him. Bill is _—_

 

“You’re lying to me,” Stanford says. He’s not strong enough for this. “You’re _lying_ to me, Bill.”

 

Bill stops. Maybe Stanford isn’t as weak as Bill initially thought, maybe. Maybe.

 

“Nonsense!” Bill says, collecting himself. “I would _never_ lie to you! I _love_ you, Stanford Filbrick Pines. Do you think I’m someone who loves easily? Do you? No. I’m not. I love you and I _never_ lie to the people I love.”

 

So: it’s the perfect lie.

 

So: Stanford doesn’t realize that he’s in love with Bill until Bill says _I love you._

  
  
He's never been in love before, he's never experienced anything but loss. Oh, he  _loves_ Bill. Like temptation, like something torn out of him, like something holy. Bill is something holy, and Stanford bows again.  _You can have everything._

 

He promised himself to Bill until the end of time and things like that never change, things like Loving and Purity never change, Stanford never changes, he knows that Bill is  _lying lying lying_ and it never changes, he has loved and loved and loved and he has  _lost_ and that's never going to change,Bill is the only one who can look at him and see something other than a freak, a defect, something  _wrong,_ something that never changes.

 

He's in love with Bill Cipher. He shouldn't be, he shouldn't be.

 

But, see: Stanford is tired of being alone.

 

"Oh."

 

"So," Bill says. "You want to finish your work, don't you?"

 

"Well  _—_ "

 

"You don't want me to  **leave,** do you?"

 

"No," Stanford says. His life would have no purpose with Bill Cipher  _—_ without Bill Cipher, he would have no one, he would be lost again. He would be a freak again, a defect. 

 

He is tired of being alone.

 

"I'll build it," he says, finally. "Anything for you."

 

"Good boy," Bill says, and it makes Stanford feel like he's worth something. "I mean, face it, Ford, you'd be  _nothing_ without me!"

 

"I know."

 

* * *

 

 

So: Fiddleford is somewhere in California  _wasting_ his talent on making personal computers, and it's more than a little awkward when Stanford calls him up and asks him to be his partner.

 

"Hello," he says, into the phone, "is this Fiddleford McGucket?"

 

"Sure is! Wait, I know this voice. Stanford Pines?"

 

"Yes, it's me."

 

There's a long silence.

 

"Well, how've you been doing?"

 

"Good," Stanford replies. "Listen, I need your help with something."

 

_What are you doing?_

 

_W h a t a r e y o u d o i n g ?_

 

"What do you need help with?"

 

"I know this may sound crazy," Stanford starts, "but listen  _—_ I had a brilliant idea. I'm going to build a portal to another dimension, but I can't do it alone. I need you to be my partner again."

 

_You don't need him. You don't need anyone. Do you think you're not smart enough to do this alone?_

 

"Listen," Fiddleford says, "I have a lot of questions about what you just said. Let's start with, what in the world would possess you to want to do something like that? Also, it isn't even possible? I know we studied a lot about that in school, but Stanford, that's only a  _theory._ "

 

_Hang up the phone._

 

"It  _is_ possible," Stanford says. He feels betrayed, but it's been a long, long time since college, and  _honestly,_ he should have expected this. It sounds a little weird when you say it out loud  _— I'm going to build a portal that will take me to another dimension. Not only that, but there's an entire town chock-full of supernatural occurrences! I moved to that town and now I'm trying to figure out what the source of its weirdness is, and a strange triangular being who I'm in love with told me that building this portal would help me complete my research. Also, that strange triangular being has an ulterior motive. But it's fine._ "I've seen it."

 

"I'm worried about you," he replies. "I can't help you. I'm sorry. I fear you've gone a little off your rocker, Stanford."

 

"But   _—_ "

 

Fiddleford is gone.

 

 _You don't need him,_ the voice repeats,  _it's better off this way, you know. You can do it on your own. I know you can._

 

Stanford places the phone down slowly.

 

"I don't need him," he repeats. "I don't need  _anyone._ "

 

* * *

 

So: fast forward   _—_ the portal finishes after months of lost sleep. Stanford ignores his deteriorating health, because  _Bill_ wanted him to do this,  _Bill_ **needed** him to do this,  _Bill_ will  _leave_ if he doesn't do this. He needs Bill and Bill needs him and Stanford can't deal with loss again. He finishes the portal and doesn't care about what happens to him. He finishes the portal, and that's it.

 

So: it's time to test it, but Stanford is  _scared._ He shouldn't be scared. He shouldn't be.

 

But: something is wrong. He knows that Bill is rotten. He knows that this is not good, but if he's scared then Bill will  _abandon_ him and he can't be abandoned not again not again not again not again  _—_

 

Anyways.

 

The original plan was going to be different, but Stanford isn't thinking. He's putting his arm through the portal, but he's not in control of his body, he's floating, he's watching it from the outside, and Stanford can't decide if this is Bill or if he's scared scared scared, so scared that he's dissociating,  _why is he doing this, Bill is bad, this will end bad, this will be the end of him, this will be —_

 

O h , h e ' s i n c o n t r o l .

 

This is all him. Bill isn't here. Bill is  _—_

 

He's _—_

 

There's  _—_

 

Something is  _—_

 

Something is pulling him inside, and there's darkness, darkness, he's always been afraid of the dark, you can't see anything in the dark, except  _—_

 

Monsters. There are  _monsters_ in the dark. Oh.

 

Red, dark, red, dark, l a u g h t e r, their faces are horrible horrible horrible,  _monsters,_ Bill  _lied_ to him and he's so  _stupid_ he should have listened to himself he should have listened to the dreams he shouldn't have fallen in love and he's being sucked in and 

 

his arm, on the outside of the portal, moves around, finds the edge of the metal and it takes his everything to pull him back out.

 

He's breathing, heavily, all he can think is  _he lied he lied he lied he lied I knew he was a liar I'm so stupid I'm weak I'm weak he lied lied lied lied stupid stupid stupid stupid weak weak weak weak weak weak —_

 

 **Y O U ' R E W E A K ,** the voice in his mind says, there it is again,  **I A G R E E .**

 

**W H Y W E R E Y O U S C A R E D**

**W H Y D I D N ' T Y O U _L I S T E N_**

 

**T H I S  I S**

**Y O U R**

 

**F A U L T .**

 

Stanford swallows.

 

He's  _strong_ now.

 

So: Stanford stops shaking.

 

So: Stanford says: "I should never have listened to you."

* * *

 

 

So: "I should've known. You  _lied_ to me."

 

Bill turns to face him. 

 

"Looks like Mr. Brainiac finally got smart! Let's just say that when that portal finishes charging up, this dimension is gonna learn how to party."

 

Stanford's crying,  _crying,_ he never wanted Bill to see him like this, weak in a different way, weak in a bad way, weak in a  _human_ way, weak. Weak.

 

"No," he says. "I'll stop you. I'll  _shut it down!"_

 

Bill laughs.

 

"A deal's a deal, Sixer," he says, and  _— sixer._ Sixer. It hurts. It hurts. His brother called him  _sixer,_ once. His brother called him sixer on the day that he  _—_

 

He's gone. His brother is gone. And all that Stanford has now is betrayal.

 

"You can't stop the bridge between our worlds from coming, but it'd be fun to watch you try!  _Cute,_ even."

 

Bill is playing with him, now. Cute. Bill called him cute, once. Many times. He thought that Bill meant it, he thought that it was real, but nothing's real and everything turns into Stanford being  _weak_ and  _foolish_ and. Desperate.

 

He was  _desperate_ to be loved.

 

"Why would you do this, Bill? I  _—_ I  _—_ I  _—_ _worshiped_ you. I  _devoted myself_ to you. I gave you my  _everything._ I  _—_ "

 

"You what? Huh? You what?"

 

"I  _loved_ you, Bill."

 

Oh, that's wrong. He loves Bill. There is no past tense.

 

"I still do. I  _—_ I love you, so much. Was  _anything_ real?"

 

"Come on," Bill says. "You think I'm someone who gives a shit about love? Do you? No, none of that was  _real._ Actually  _— yeah,_ some of it was. I did mean it when I said I loved you."

 

"You did?"

 

"Yeah! I loved using your body. I loved manipulating you. You made me feel things I had never felt. So, I guess I should probably thank you for that."

 

"You're a  _monster,_ " Stanford says. His eyes are blurred, and the vague outline of Bill in his vision makes him  _sick._

 

"Yeah, wow, you _just_ noticed that? You're dumber than I thought! But hey! You knew this would happen, Ford. You knew I was bad news, didn't you? You knew my true intentions and you  _fell for me anyways._ Can't make that stuff up! Boy, humans really are desperate creatures."

 

"When I wake up  _—_ "

 

"Oh, you think you get to wake up? No. I'm going to keep you in this dream forever, Stanford.  **Forever.** Well. Until that portal finishes charging. Then I'll have to think of something else to do with you. Maybe we can play a game!"

 

"I can wake up," Stanford tells him. "I'm stronger than you."

 

"You think so? Okay, go ahead. Wake up."

 

So: Stanford laughs.

 

So: Stanford thinks about his brother, thinks about loving again.

 

So: Stanford wakes  _up._

 

* * *

 

 

So: Stanford shuts the portal down. Severs the link between dimensions. 

 

He thinks that it's over.

 

How  _stupid._

 

 

So: after ten days of being awake, he falls asleep on accident.

 

"Hey there."

 

_Fuck._

 

"How are you here?"

 

"You're sleeping!" Bill says. "And I'm glad. You know, the human body can only handle so many days without sleep. One more day and you'd have been a goner. We don't want that, do we?"

 

"Go away," Stanford tells him. "Go  _away,_ " and then he's only capable of repeating  _go away go away go away go away_ over and over, like something broken. He's broken, he's a defect. Broken.  _Oh._

 

"But you don't  _really_ want that," Bill says. "Let's have some fun, huh? Like old times? Hey, remember when you devoted your entire life to me? That sure was amazing!"

 

"It's over now."

 

So: Stanford thinks again. Wakes himself up.

 

It's useless.

 

Bill has his body, now. Stanford can only watch.

 

"Well, well, well. You really thought you could shut me out. C'mon, Stanford. I love you. No need to be so rude!"

 

Stanford tries to say  _you don't love me, you said you don't, you're a liar, you're a liar,_ but nothing comes. He's stuck. He's vulnerable, open. Bill could do  _anything_ and Stanford wouldn't be able to protest.

 

"Now, what should we do? I can think of  _so many_ things. Oh, but hey. Don't worry, not gonna hurt you, 'cause what's the fun in that? Then you wouldn't be able to do anything and I'd be bored as fuck. Also, you'd probably be dead. I don't want you dead!"

 

Bill looks around a bit. Having a body is  _weird._

 

"Hey, I've got an idea! Why don't we call up that idiot brother of yours? Wouldn't it be funny to hear his voice again? I can see it now. 'Uh, uh, Stanford, is that you? Yeah, 'course I'm doing fine on my own. Why'd you call? I miss you so much. I'm sorry for ruining your project, man, it was a mistake, can you  _ever_ forgive me?'. Yeah, I think that's what I'll do."

 

 _No,_ Stanford thinks,  _no. He doesn't sound like that._

 

"How would you know?" 

 

_Just give me my body back._

 

"Why should I?"

 

_Because I'm nothing to you. You'll get bored, eventually. Just. Please. Give me my body back._

 

"Now, now. Don't put yourself down."

 

_G i v e m e m y b o d y b a c k ._

 

"Ask nicely, and I'll consider it."

 

_Bill. Please, give it back._

 

"Nicer."

 

_Can you please give me my body back?_

 

"Not nice enough."

 

_I'll do anything._

 

"Bingo! Anything, huh?"

 

_No, I didn't mean —_

 

"Too late! But I'll take a rain check. I gotta go. You're starting to bore the fuck out of me. And not in the literal sense, which sucks. Anyway, just know that I'll hold you to your words."

 

So: Bill leaves.

 

So: Stanford feels broken again.

 

_How would you know?_

 

* * *

 

 

So: Stanford puts a metal plate in his head. All on his own.

 

He thinks that someone out there should be proud of him.

 

* * *

 

 

So: there's only one person he can trust, but it hurts.

 

He sends a postcard to Stanley.

 

* * *

 

 

So:  _come back. This was never supposed to happen. Can't you feel our connection, sixer?_

 

Sixer.

 

S i x e r.

 

"Bill," he says. "I should've known it was you all along."

 

_I agree! I don't know how you didn't figure it out until just now._

 

"How is this possible? How  _—_ "

 

_We have a telepathic bond. We've had one forever._

 

"There's no such thing. You're in my mind, playing tricks on me. I don't know how. I shut you out, I put the plate in, I  _—_ "

 

_You're cute. You can't sever a connection like this. It's just not possible. I've tried. I'm a fucking omnipotent being, and even I couldn't get it to go away._

 

_Then I realized I could use you._

 

"I hate you."

 

_Yeah, hearing that's getting a little old._

 

"So, you're telling me that you've been the voice in my head all along?"

 

_Yep._

 

"I don't know what to  _—_ "

 

 _Do?_ Bill finishes.  _You don't know what to do? Haven't you been listening? There is nothing you can do. We'll be together forever, like this. Our connection —_

 

"Stop saying that! We don't have a connection!"

 

_Oh, but we do._

_You just don't want to admit it._

 

_You don't want to be stuck with me forever? There was a time when you'd have told me the exact opposite._

 

 

_I'll be with you forever, Stanford._

 

_Forever._

 

 _F o r e v e r and_   _—_

 

"Well, I can always count on you for a warm welcome," Stanley says. He's standing in the doorway. "You called me here just to tell me we don't have a connection?"

 

"No, that's not what I  _—_ "

 

He sighs.

 

"Did anyone follow you? Anyone at all?"

 

"Hello to you, too."

 

"Come in, come in. Listen, I've made huge mistakes and I don't know who I can trust anymore."

 

"Let's talk through this, okay?" Stanley asks  _— he's backing away,_ he's  _terrified._

 

Stanford is scaring him.

 

"I have something to show you. Something you won't believe."

 

"Hey, I've been through a lot of shit, Stanford. Whatever it is, I'll understand."

 

So: "There is  _nothing_ about this I understand."

 

Stanford explains it, tells him about the portal. Doesn't tell him about Bill, though, because if he tells Stanley about Bill then Stanley will laugh and laugh and laugh and say  _wow, so **that's** what you've been up to? _

 

Maybe.

 

He hasn't seen Stanley in over ten years.

 

It's hard to remember him, the old days. He doesn't know his brother anymore.

 

He doesn't know what Stanley would do, if he found out.

 

He keeps it down and hidden and to himself, like a secret. It's a secret, now. Something to be ashamed of.

 

" _—_ remember our plans to sail around the world on a boat? Take my research, get on a boat, and sail as far away as you can."

 

Stanley looks at him.

 

"That's it? You finally want to see me after ten years and it's to tell me to get as far away from you as possible?"

 

"You don't understand what I'm up against," Stanford tells him, allowing his voice to break. It breaks and he falls and he can only think about Bill and how much he loves and misses his brother and  _—_

 

he loves and misses his brother. It feels weird to think about it but he l o v e s Stanley. His stupid, stupid brother. After all this time.

 

But.

 

It's still his fault  _—_ without Stanley's betrayal, none of this would have happened. Without Stanley breaking his project, he would never have met Bill.

 

He imagines it, a life unhindered by Bill Cipher, a life without paranoia and fear and self-surgery. 

 

Stanley cost him that life. Stanley cost him  _everything._

 

"You're so selfish," Stanley says. 

 

"I'm selfish?  _I'm selfish?_ How can you  _say_ that after costing me my dream school? I'm giving you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and you won't even listen!"

 

Stanley looks like an hurt animal, for a second, until it's gone and he's back to being angry. "Well, listen to this. You want me to get rid of this book?" He pulls out a lighter from his pocket, and Stanford wonders where he got it, why does his brother have a lighter, why  _—_

 

Oh. 

 

Then he realizes that Stanley is going to  _burn_ it.

 

He grabs the journal from Stanley's hands, screams  _you don't understand!_

 

Stanley takes it back, pushes him towards cold metal.

 

"You left me behind, you jerk!" Stanley says, and he's crying now, breaking down. "It was supposed to be us forever. You ruined my life!"

 

"You ruined your own life," he replies, finding his balance and kicking Stanley —

 

into the control panel.

 

Stanley screams and screams and screams and —

 

it takes a while for Stanford to realize what happened. He  _branded_ his own brother. 

 

 

 

"I'm so sorry," he says, without thinking, he  _branded his brother,_ he  _hurt_ him, he never wanted to hurt him, maybe he  _is_ selfish. "Are you alright?"

 

"Some brother you turned out to be," Stanley says. There's a loud noise somewhere, but Stanford ignores it. He  _hurt_ his brother. "You care more about your dumb mysteries than your own family? Well then, you can have them."

 

He pushes Stanford, and Stanford is floating, floating —

 

oh,  _no._

 

"Hey," Stanley says, "what's going on?"

 

Stanford can only shout  _Stanley, help me! Help me!_

 

He's almost inside of the portal and it's useless. He throws his book, and then there's nothing but  _white._

 

* * *

 

 

 

So: It's dark, in Bill's world. Dark, and cold.

 

So:  _Some brother you turned out to be._

 

It's not Stanley's voice. 

 

_You call him back after ten years just to tell him to get the hell away from you? You're horrible, you know? Luckily for you, I like horrible!_

 

"So this is what your dimension is like?" Stanford says, ignoring him. "Explains quite a bit about you."

 

 _Now, now, Fordsy. Don't be so insensitive._   _I love my dimension! You'll get used to it after a while._

 

"I suppose I will," Stanford says. He hurt his brother, told him that he was useless. He has no brother, now. He has nothing now.

 

He is  _weak_ now.

 

"I've got nothing left to lose."

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> " It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,  
> it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio,  
> how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days  
> were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple  
> to slice into pieces.  
> Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means  
> we’re inconsolable.  
> Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.  
> These, our bodies, possessed by light.  
> Tell me we’ll never get used to it." - Scheherazade by Richard Siken, because there's no other way to title a fic like this than Siken tbh.
> 
> Anyways - this fic is my child!! I had so much fun writing this. I don't care if it's horrible and it probably is but. I love it.
> 
> It was supposed to be a soulmates AU, but then I thought about the "I've been waiting an eternity to have chat _face-to-face _" thing, and thought, "hey, what does he mean by face-to-face? What if..." and then this fic happened. It's the longest non-multichap I've ever written! But uh, if people want me to continue to the events of Weirdmageddon, then it might become multichapter. Haha oops.__
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> _But anyway!! Please tell me what you think. Thanks! <3_  
> 


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